Excerpt from "The Faithful"

[Mummelmann]

Hello there fellow fantasy enthusiasts!
One of my passions is to write fantasy and vampire stories, and I've written quite a few in the last 3-4 years, si I thought I'd post the first part of one of my short stories here to see what you guys thought! Bear in mind that english is my second language, and I've worked hard my entire life to try to aquire as much knowledge as I can without affording an education with communications in mind.
Anyway, this story is called "The Faithful" and is about two ancestors of two main characters in my trilogy, hope you enjoy!

The misty dawn found Dorian fast asleep, and his bunkmate Cleve shook his fuzzy head in exasperation.
Every day the same; Cleve up and dressed in good time for inspections, and Dorian fumbling about with his tabard on backwards and swordbelt hanging on the bedpost.
This would then be followed up by boisterous complaints and aggravation from lieutenant Dorn, and would eventually result in diciplinary punishment for both boys.
The ancient fortress was abundant in meaningless jobs, and the two young Gimbutans had been through most in the six months they had been in service.
One could almost believe that Dorian was thrilled to shovel refuse from the barracks latrines or scrubb and polish other soldiers’ blades and armor to near glasslike state.
-“ Dorian! You lazy oaf! Get your buns up and about!” shouted Cleve into the ear of a startled Dorian.
The exhausted young recruit sat up and planted both sore feet firmly onto the cold wooden boards that made up the worn floor.
Upon close scrutiny, Dorian found that all the nine other soldiers were nearly dressed and ready, and he slammed his fist into his temple with the dull motion of a hand still sleeping.
He stood on the freezing floor and saw that his friend had lain all his clothes neatly on top of his own bed, and the tired boy smiled in spite of himself when he started donning his hose.
The autumn in northern Tunael was biting and chill, despite the sun that baked the ground at daytime.
Still, between the two hoses and the large tunic and a thick woolen shirt, the days and mornings were bearable if not pleasant.
The chainshirt and greaves were the real enemy the men faced at day, and inside a suit of armor you were never comfortable.
Either you were cold, or you were too warm, an endless nightmare for any soldier.
Dorians sincere sympathy went out to the heavy cavalry stationed here in Elbnast, and the image of wearing a full platemail with damp clothing inside was disheartening at best.
But as a soldier of the kingdom now, Dorian had to endure some hard days.
It was all worth it afterall, when the day came when their simple white tabards would be replaced with red ones bearing the crest of Tunael on chest and back.
He would wear it with pride and respect, not to mention how much respect the townsfolk would show him in the kings clothes!
Ah, the feeling of young girls’ eyes upon his person as he strode proudly through the buzzling streets at high noon with his hand on the hilt of his longsword and shiny boots reflecting the sun to brighten his features.
Dorian snapped out of his reverie, realizing precious moments had gone, and that all the others had donned their chainshirts and tabards and stood erect to present themselves to their commander.
The stressed young man cursed several times while he got dressed, and made a mental note not to spend late evenings playing dice games with the older soldiers.
He was about to strap on his swordbelt when the lieutenant entered, the grimy boots leaving mudtracks that he and Cleve would probably be cleaning up.
Cleve looked skywards as Dorian threw on his tabard backwards for the fifth time in as many days.
He gritted his teeth and made a visible effort not to bellow out in unchecked anger.
The burly lieutenant gave them both a baleful stare that stabbed at their sinking hearts.
-“ I say, recruits, that the floors of this barracks have never been as clean as they are while you’re here.”
He wore a sly face as he sauntered over to the two “washmaids” as he called them, and the other soldiers could see the officer was already plotting out which unworthy task his favourite victims would be presented with this morning while the others had sword drills.
-“ My, my. You have a knack for dozing at untimely hours, young Dorian. Maybe we should have you transferred to the enemy instead, in order to stall their advance?”
A wide, toothy grin appeared on the mans face as he looked around in expectancy of laughter from his men.
Most of the soldiers chuckled slightly to satisfy the lieutenants incessant need to be a so called humorous fellow.
-“ Ah, I wish you were full of quips, young man. We could have jested all day, cause I never run out.” said the middleaged, slightly balded officer with a smirk.
-“ Yes sir!” was all Dorian managed when Dorn thrust his stubbled face a scant inch away from his own.
Their noses nearly touched, and the lieutenants manner changed and his voice turned sinister; -“ If you greet me looking like this one more time, I’ll make you a stablehand on the spot, boy! From this day on I expect you to perform like a soldier! AND… you’re sleeping on the floor tonight!” the flushed man practically spat.
His eyes, filled with disdain, turned then to Cleve, who was watching the display with disbelief on his features.
Never had anyone worn thin the seemingly inexhaustible patience of the lieutenant, and when the officer spun abruptly around, he saw the surpsrised looks on everyone.
-“ One foul critter in the pen rubs filth on everyone. Did it occur to any of you geniuses to rouse the boy awake?”
The lieutenant looked about and considered the quiet, tasting the lack of response in openmouthed astonishment.
-“ If a soldier is lesser of a swordsman than yourself, you keep an eye on him, and help him if needs be. And if a larded or otherwise hampered moron has trouble mounting his steed, you help secure the stirrups or lift his fat behind into the saddle. And, if a sleepyhead whom can actually become a good soldier one day has trouble getting up in the morning, YOU WAKE THE DAMN BUGGER UP!”
Everyone in the room were startled by the shouting, and a poor little boy outside stacking firewood nearly wet his pants.
The ususal noise from Dorn was harmless and not ill intended, but today he was different.
Lieuteant Dorn took a deep breath and calmed himself inwardly, and then spun about to face Dorian again, this time with a an almost repentant look in his blue eyes.
-“ You see these two fine young men? They have shoveled human waste and srubbed more floors and polished more arms and armor than anyone can count. And yet, they remain steadfast in their commitment to the king. Never an open complaint or groveling from the two of them. As for the rest of you, you bellyache over sore shoulders after lance drills or bruises and small abrasions from sword drills.”
The big lieutenant was angry with himself for having lost his temper, and sought to redeem the young outlander in both his own and the other soldiers’ eyes.
-“ Fact is, these two have worked twice as hard as any of you, and they’re still ahead of you both in swordsmanship and horsemanship. What does that tell you?”
The inquiery brought shrugs from most of the recruits, and low muttering from some.
-“ That we need to work harder, lieutenant sir?” ventured a scrawny boy named Marro.
-“ The Gods be praised, we have an awake one with us! Damn straight recruit!” replied the lieutenant with a satisfied tone.
Many of the men were shifting uncomfortably and all were anxious to hear what came next, because the two usually culpable recruits would seemingly be spared the nuisance of doing degrading work today.
An awkward silence filled the room, and the lieutenants last words hang suspended in the moist air. His gaze fixed each soldier in turn as he walked by them, and he sized them all up inside his head.
He came to a sudden halt at the doorway, with his back turned, and his right hand stroking the stubble upon his chin as he pondered.
-“ Dorian, Cleve. You’re with captain Rither today. The rest of you, unbuckle your belts and take off your chainshirts. Central courtyard in five minutes. Hustle!” he rasped as he stalked out the door coughing, still contemplating what he had ordered.
But his orders were explicit, and none could question colonel Byam, for in the fortress at Elbnast his authority was absolute and final.
The decorated lieutenant knew he was going to miss the two chaps, they were both decent boys, and by far the best he had drilled since he started some twentyfive years ago.
-Damned thing is, by the time I retire, those two rascals will probably outrank me! thought Dorn as he laughed to himself and shook his weary head.

[Borael]

I haven't gotten all of it yet but what I have read is good, the detail gets a good picture in my mind of what is going on. Would you read my story Assassins Road and give me feedback? Once again good details!

[Mummelmann]

Thank you for your opinion! Those are good words to hear indeed!
I'll gladly read up on your story and give you some feedback.

[Mummelmann]

Here follows the rest of the story:

Captain Rither was about five years Dorns elder, but his alert eyes and rigid posture hinted at an experienced soldier whose age hadn’t worn him down a bit.
On his back he carried a large two-handed blade with his initials inscribed upon the silver laquered hilt. The letters stood out in pure gold, and for a man to have received such a weapon, he must have commited a truly heroic and spectacular deed.
The boys knew that the blade had been given to him by Duke Kensing 3rd after a successful raid on the Sodocan engineers and their retinue who had tried for the tenth time to obstruct the flow of the Hynas up north.
The famed cavalry in Elbnast was counted among the smallest companies in Tunael, but also the one with most significance.
The elitemost of the cavalry were accepted into the legendary Golden Tigers order, who were all knights, and thereby counted among the nobility.
Both young recruits fixed their gaze on the stout captain as he crossed the courtyard headed in their direction.
His stride was both long and swift, but a slight gait on his left leg suggested some kind of injury from past encounters.
He came to a halt before the recruits, and slammed one heel into the cobbled ground and went taut.
-“ Captain. Private Dorian Palanquinn reporting for duty!” said Dorian with due respect in his voice and his eyes peeled straight forward.
The captain nodded, and Dorians companion proceeded; -“ Captain. Private Cleve Casio reporting for duty!” he echoed, his own heel striking the ground as he spoke.
Dorian bit his lip in irritation as he suddenly realized he’d forgotten to pay proper homage to military protocol and do the same.
The captain, however, was too intent on studying the newest addition to his troop to really notice the glitch, a fact for which Dorian was immensely grateful.
-“ As you were, soldiers. Ah, such a fresh morning it is!” ,said the captain.
- Allthough I hear that for some, the mornings are slightly less favoured, yes?”
Dorian blushed upon the last remark, but saw that the captain was grining, and he couldn’t help but smile himself.
-“ Are you up for a ride across the countryside, lads? Figured we could go and see my chapterhouse today, unless any of you are ill disposed to go?”
Both the soldiers shook their heads vigoriously and looked at one-another with teeth bared in almost impossibly wide smiles.
It would be their first day since arrival that wouldn’t be spent toiling and slaving like common Braumen.*
By now, the other soldiers of the company who stood at attention some thirty yards to their left, had started moving, brooms and shovels in hand, and disgruntled looks on their sleepy faces.
Somehow, the cool morning did nothing to bother Dorian and Cleve this day, and they were all smiles and nods as they followed their superior into the stables where three mounts awaited, fully saddled and rested.
A fourth man was already on horseback, and the boys’ anticpation grew when they saw a familiar helm shining in the slight sunlight boring through the rafters above.
-“ This here is Sir Liethan of Elbnast. Honorary knight of our order, and second in command of the Tunaelan cavalry.”
Dorian and Cleve were dumbfounded.
Before them, on his famous steed Kyan, sat a legend.
A man whose name was known and respected in every corner of the kingdom, and even known by the aloof island-folk to the east and west.
-“ Good morning, young soldiers. How fare thee?” sounded the deep voice from inside the visored full helm made of the finest Amedyan**.
No response was imminent, so the knight continued;
-“ I will be riding with you today, young men. We will leave for the chapterhouse, where you will be given new tabards and blades, and upon your return to Elbnast fortress you will be given new quarters as instructed by me. Understood?” rumbled the Lieutenant-General.
The awestruck soldiers nodded their heads slightly without letting their eyes stray from the person upon the huge stallion before them.
-“ An honour… to… I never believed I would… meet you. Sir!” Dorian stuttered in the amused knights direction.
The robust man clad in black armor motioned the boys to their mounts, but captain Rither had to usher them into the stirrups in order to get them to react.
Without further comment, the legenadry knight set out at a slight trot, and the captain and the boys were forced to ride hard to catch him before he exited the fortress.
One strong hand held the reins, while the other rested in his lap, and the two young Gimbutans had never seen such a relaxed rider. Even in his heavy platemail he seemed at ease, and both soldiers were inclined to believe that the knight could ride hard for hours wearing full armor and still be ready for any fighting.
The thriving city of Elbnast had eventually recovered from the massive attack by Sodoc over one decade ago, and where only rubble and ashes had lain, now stood new and proud buildings built with facades of unprecedented splendor.
The ancient city had never looked so regal and alive, and the 30.000 citizens reflected this image.
Even the lowliest urchin felt a pang of pride to be a part of such a bustling community, and every prostitute in Elbnast wore finer garbs than the noblewomen of the south.
The near infinite riches of the Rainy Mountains had brought much to the northern city, and no other city in Tunael, including the capitol, could measure up to Elbnast in its present state.
Dorian found that he and Cleve were being openly gawked at as they rode past groups of people, and he felt almost like a knight himself astride his fair mount.
Come to think of it, even the horses in Elbnast seemed more powerful and commanding than in other parts of the country.
But no Tunaelan horse could match those of the kingdom of Sodoc; the kingdom Tunael was currently engaged in war with.
Those horses could easily outrun even the strongest mount down south, much because of their superior lineage, but also because the Sodoc cavalry had taken to wearing light armor.
For the second time that day, Dorian roused from deep thinking, and realized they were almost clear of the city gates on the west wall.
A minute later, the quartet was out in the open, flanked only by a few outlying farms and the tower of an ancient botanist and alchemist named Vagrim to the north.
The mighty steeds surged forward with rekindled fire for galloping burning in their muscled legs and ironclad hooves.
Their nostrils flared as the speed increased slightly and the clatter as they crossed the Elbnast bridge sailed downwind into the ears of fieldhands and carpenters hard at work.
Some ot them removed their hats and waved at the riders, and some children amassed on the banks of the river Hynas to cheer as Sir Liethan and his companions streaked past, lying flat against the strong necks of their thoroughbreeds.
The gallop wore on for several minutes, until the knight slowed his mount to a canter and stroked the sineous neck with a gauntleted hand.
-“ These mounts are strong, yes? Finest in the kingdom, allthough I can never get a fast enough horse.” confessed Sir Liethan.
As if the horse understood his masters words, he whinnied and reared his head in offense.
Cleve laughed openly at the sight and patted his own horse on the neck.
-“ So. How does the uniform work for you boys? Have you lured any unsuspecting young maidens into the barracks by means of fantastic tales of bravery and might yet?” said captain Rither to the boys with a wink directed at Liethan.
The decorated knight smiled so broadly that his helmet nearly cracked ontop his head, and a deep, rumbling laughter reverberated within its confines.
-“ Well, as long as we carry white tabards, marking us recruits, our standing with the fair sex does not change drastically, sir.” replied Dorian smartly to the captain.
-“ Ah. In my day, we used to see the butcher before we left the fortress, and smear blood all over our tabards and armor. That way, we could convince the girls we had been out fighting and were in dire need of comfort!” said Rither surprisingly.
The two soldiers stared at the captain in open amazement, but also in admiration of such a crafty way of beguiling women.
The general populace was concerned about some of Elbnasts nobility, and most knights or high ranking officials were considered to be stuck up and into themselves.
But, it would seem that these two knights with whom the boys rode, proved those opinions wrong.
Of course, there were nobles in the region who were into themselves, and a select few went to great lengths to ensure that anyone could see their wealth and power.
Sir Liethan was probably among the four or five most powerful nobles in northern Tunael, including Duke Kensing.
He did nothing to endorce this fact, however, and this reassured Dorian that the burly knight was only a man after all.
Liethan was a warrior first, and an Earl second, and he was of the rigid sort who believed that being pompous and arrogant was an affront to knighthood as a whole.
-“ I think the two of you have a bright future ahead of you. Lieutenant Dorn tells me of your skill with blade and lance, and I can tell that both of you are natural horsemen.” said captain Rither as the party neared an ancient oak that stood out on the slightly sloped plains.
-“ He almost shed a tear when he was informed of your promotion. And he truly regrets not being your commanding officer anymore. But we have plans for you two, and will stop at nothing to make you the best soldiers possible.” he finished with sincerity in his voice and eyes.
-“ I even believe you can become Golden Tigers one day.” spoke Sir Liethan over the cacophony of stomping hooves upon the grass.
Dorian and Cleve both went completely silent, but their eyes lit up at the thought of being knights one day, however distant.

It was Liethans keen eyes that spied the pillar of smoke first.
As the small band saw a slight rain of smoldering cinders and ashes ahead, they forced the muscular steeds into a mad gallop.
They thundered along the paved road that intersected the kings highway that wove like a snake throughout Tunael from north to south.
Teary-eyed from smoke and exhilerated by the thoughts rushing through their heads, they came upon an inferno nearing the end of the road.
Sir Liethan reined in his horse and dismounted, and the others followed suit.
The big knight went down on his knees and stared blankly at the licking flames, ignoring the thick smoke stinging his eyes.
For the first time in front of anyone but his superiors or friends, he removed his visored helmet, and his pale face revealed tears streaming.
The three others stood aghast by their mounts, holding reins with unsteady hands, not believing what they saw.
Captain Rither fell on one knee and hand, face down, with his right hand still clutching the now damp reins.
He started uttering soft prayers for those who were probably burning inside the blaze that encysted the once proud chapterhouse.
If things had gone really bad, over eighty knights and a dozen initiates lay among the ashes, and both Dorian and Cleve were so moved by the sight of their superiors that they wept openly and felt no shame.
Curling smoke and hot ashes intensified the sensations, and salty tears flowed like the Hynas itself upon the cheeks of the two faithful knights and their subordinates.
With slow, calculating movements, Sir Liethan arose from his kneeling stance and turned around, showing hatred and pent up anger on his sootstreaked face.
His clear, blue eyes stood out from the blackened visage, and his brown curls hung unmoving down the moist temples and neck like a hood encasing his troubled mind.
The haunting stare the middleaged knight gave his subjects, chilled them to the bone, and all three knew what the Lieutenant-General was thinking.
Immense waves of hot air lashed out at the armorclad soldiers, and the blaze was not old, they knew.
-“ We give pursuit.” came the clear, deep voice of Liethan as he donned his helmet once again and mounted Kyan.
No objections were forthcoming, and the other three jumped into their saddles, rage filling their body with strength they had never known.
Strength they had never wished to know.
Sir Liethan spurred his stallion into a full gallop, and sped north, his followers only a few leaping strides behind.
It was as if the horses themselves were filled with anger and adrenaline, their long faces filled with determination, their shoed hooves whipping up a storm of dirt in their trail.
A lone straydog perched atop a hillock a few hundred yards away, watched the blurry riders pass onto the horizon.
It sniffed the air, and it was thick with the smell of ashes and blood that had yet to be spilt.
Sensing distress, the furry canine leaped down from the protruding rock on which he had stood, and raced after the riders.

Cleve and Dorian tensed when the coloumn of riders appeared a scant half a mile ahead of them, and they clenched uneasy fists around their reins.
By the looks of it, there were at least a dozen riders, but as they rode on two narrow lines, there could be another eight or ten in the van.
Distance was the only thing between the recruits and what had to be certain death.
Even with an enraged Sir Liethan by their side, there was no way they could hope to best these riders, who were most probably Sodoc light cavalry and thus well trained men, led by a seasoned sergeant or lieutenant at best.
Or an experienced captain at worst.
Scant minutes later, the distance was a mere hundred yards, and Sir Liethan let out a thunderous roar as he drew his broadsword and descended upon the Sodocan riders.
Captain Rither echoed the ancient battlecry, intoning the name of their prime diety, Te’Raban, and produced a similar broadsword from his mounts flank.
Dorian and Cleve mimiced the two knights and unsheathed their longswords, and even they bellowed to the wargod, caught up in the frenetic chase.
Startled by the quick approach, and the cold fury of their attackers, the Sodocan horsemen barely managed to turn their mounts in response.
But as Sir Liethan and captain Rither lifted their blades skywards to hack down on the the rearmost soldiers, they had their own blades out.
Too late for the two first ones, as an unsuccessful parry led Liethans razoredged sword straight into the throat of a startled young man wearing a light chainshirt and greaves.
His unprotected neck gushed out a crimson spray over his horse and saddle, and the lifeless body was flung to the ground where it tangled in the legs of a charging comrades steed, causing a second death as the horse stumbled and landed ontop of his master.
Rither lashed out at another rider, who took the blades grazing edge to his chest, rendering the chainshirt useless, and carving a deep cut into the mans flesh.
Another charging rider was parried expertly by Liethan, and failed to recover his momentum before Dorian struck his face in a wide swipe of his longsword.
The young Gimbutan did not spare a single thought to the soldiers death, and paid no attention to the sight of a cleaved skull passing by.
With grim determination, Cleve rode into the mass of jumbled riders, sword held high above his head, and hacked right and left, causing two deep wounds in the bellys of two equally stunned opponents.
One of which fell to the ground with a gauntleted hand clutching at his abdomen, and the other spending the last second of his life watching Rithers blade close in on his neck.
Six riders were already dispatched or gravely injured.
But now the enemy regrouped as they stormed in the opposite direction and turned around, the foremost apparently being the leader, with a curved blade and buckler equipped.
The coloumn of twelve Sodocan light cavalry charged their opponents with rage in their eyes, but also fear, for they knew whom they were battling.
This fear, and a slight hesitation, cost two new soldiers their life as perfectly balanced blades wielded by arms with nearly eighty years of experience cut into their midst.
Liethan braced himself as the leader of the Sodocans, who was strangely without any markings of rank, sought to strike him with his curved blade.
Unable to riposte from the previous strike, Liethan was forced to take the hit, but luckily, it glanced of the thick breatsplate, leaving only a slight nick in the black metal.
Simultaneously, Rither was struck from behind by a rider who had slowed down just as he passed them, and he fell screaming of his horse.
Some of the riders had fanned out and feinted a flanking attack, and one of them now sought to trample the defenseless captain that lay sprawled on the mosit ground.
The red tabard on Rithers armor was severly torn, and a deep gash shone through the shredded metal underneath.
Cleve saw what the enemy rider was planning, and intercepted him halfway, slamming his great stallion into the other rider with such force that both were hurled heavenwards, only to strike the ground and get the wind knocked out of them.
The two boys were approximately the same age, and Cleve felt confident, as he was even better with his sword while on foot.
It was over in seconds when the Sodocan tried to lunge at him with a wild stab, leaving several openings in his shabby guard.
Next, Dorian was able to kick the man who had been wounded in the chest so he fell of his horse to, which forced an oncoming rider to veer to the right, which in turn resulted in an impaled body on Liethans thirsty sword.
Only half of the initial eighteen riders were still mounted and able to fight, but then again, only Dorian and Liethan remained in the saddle on the other side.
With yet another ferocious battlecry, Sir Liethan charged three men at once, and the manouver shocked the riders so thoroughly, that he actually managed to down two of them in a single stroke, leaving the third to struggle with maintaining balance astride his startled mount.
Suddenly, Cleve found himself the target of the horseman with the saber, and was forced to flatten himself on the ground to avoid being struck.
The rider whizzed past, blade singing a steel-ladden tune above Cleves head, and then he whipped the curved blade about in an instant, and struck at Dorian who was busy recovering from his powerful kick at the wounded horseman.
There was no time to parry or evade the attack alltogether, and Dorian took a glancing blow to the chest, which swept all the way up to his face, leaving a nasty cut across the left cheek all the way to the brow.
He roared as the blade bit into his skin, and spurting blood hampered his vision to the point where he could barely see his own hands, let alone assess the situation.
Sir Liethan recognized that the young lad was in peril, and selflessly threw his blade at a rider who was coming in on Dorian from behind.
The sheer force of the throw lifted the man from his saddle, and he landed on his back with an embroidered hilt protruding from his chest.
For many years to come, Cleve would tell his friends about what happened next, for just as another rider sought to trample Rithers still form, the brave Sir Liethan stood in his saddle as he rode to blunt the attempt, and then threw himself straight into the meeting rider.
The large knight clad in platemail, smashed into his adversary, crushing the entire chest region of the surprised soldier.
Unfortunately, upon landing, Liethan found himself unarmed and with several broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder.
Droplets of blood appeared at the base of his helm, and the knight was panting as he struggled onto his feet.
The entire scene stopped moving for an instant, with captain Rither downed, only five enemy riders left, Dorian clearing his vision slightly and Cleve and a severely wounded, unarmed Liethan unfailingly at their comrades’ side.
As if the gods themselves intervened, a scruffy form jumped at the leader of the Sodocan riders, and he fell gurgling to the road with a large, unkempt hound mincing his throat.
Surprised by the dogs sudden appearance, the remaining four riders did not see Cleve coming at them at full speed, and Dorian galloping the same way, both recruits with raised blades in hand.
Just as the dog stopped chomping on his fell victim, Dorians blade landed onto a riders nosebridge, cleaving it and barring the mans brainmatter in an instant.
A second later, Cleves sword was thrust straight into the gut of an unsuspecting soldier who had been watching the grizzly display of raw violence by the dog.
All of the sudden, only two riders remained, three with Dorian.
Disbelief crossed the eyes of the two last Sodocans as they beheld the bloodstained ground riddled with the dead and dying.
In desperate motions they tried to turn their mounts and flee, but the dog attacked the hind legs of one of the horses, and Dorian gave chase to the other, who was overtaken and killed within seconds of setting of.
The injured horse whinnied desperately and cast off his master, sending him reeling on stumbling feet towards Liethan and Rithers still form.
The blade that had lain by the captains side was missing, and had found a blackclad hand.
The young Sodocan stared deeply into the charcoal visor as the blade bored deep into quivering flesh, rending vital organs and eventually the spine on its way through.
Brown eyes went glassy, and the pleading stare transformed into a dead mans last impression of the mortal realm.
The hilt left the hand gently, letting the dead soldier slide down Liethans feet and finally thumping onto the road only paces away from the now lost captain Rither whose shallow breathing had ceased.
Cleve sat down and let the large dog approach carefully.
The dogs tail was wagging and the ears were completely upturned, and the dogs bloody snout touched Cleves hand as Liethan and Dorian watched in puzzlement.
None of them uttered a single word, but simply gathered captain Rithers body into their arms and hoisted it into Dorians saddle.
The three riders set out towards Elbnast with hard eyes and steady limbs once again.
The price had been exacted, revenge was final.
-“ You shall both be dubbed knights come evening. By my hand, for you are my faithful.” declared Sir Liethan as they rode eastwards.

THE END